Imagine coming home after a long day, expecting peace, only to find your husband and his ex-wife in your living room. That’s exactly what happened to me. But Melissa wasn’t just there for a chat. What she was doing was beyond anything I could’ve imagined.
Do you know the feeling when you return home after a day full of meetings and deadlines? All you want is just to take a shower, change into a fresh pair of pajamas, and sink into your cozy bed. It’s just the best feeling ever.
I felt the same when I got home from work two weeks ago. All I wanted was my bed, a cup of hot coffee, and the true-crime documentary I’d been watching. I was set to watch episode 3, but what I saw when I stepped inside made me forget everything.
I opened the door, hung the car keys, and began walking towards my room when something unexpected caught my eye. At first, I really thought I was imagining things because it seemed too odd to be true.
I noticed the couch was gone, the rug was missing, and even the bookshelf had vanished. I checked the hallway and the kitchen, and sure enough, most of the items were missing. The coat closet? Gone. The coffee machine? Gone. The dining table? GONE!
What the heck? I thought. Where’s Roger?
Roger, my husband, usually came home before me, but I couldn’t see him around. Then, I heard his voice, like he was yelling at someone. It was coming from the end of the hallway. From our living room.
I threw my bag on the kitchen island and followed his voice. As I got closer, another voice echoed through the hallway. It was a woman’s voice.
Not ready for what was waiting, I pushed the door open and saw my husband with his ex-wife, Melissa. The woman Roger swore he’d never see again, the one he called “a filthy rich spoiled brat.”
I felt like my heart had jumped up to my throat. Why was Melissa in my house?
“Roger?” I said, interrupting their conversation. “What… What happened to our house?”
“Oh, Liz, you’re here?” Roger asked as if he wasn’t expecting me.
“Yeah, I just got back,” I said. “What’s she doing here?”
“I’ll explain everything,” Roger stuttered. “I’ll fix it, I swear.”
Roger looked desperate for me to stay calm, while Melissa stood there smirking. I almost thought they were having an affair until Melissa’s words sent a wave of pure rage through me.
“No, you won’t,” she snapped at Roger. “Didn’t you tell her that everything you owned is mine?”
“I… I…” Roger stammered, lost for words.
“Well, honey,” she said, turning to me. “All of this furniture… it belongs to me. You see, your husband and I bought it together when we were married, so I’m just taking back what’s mine.”
What the… I thought. What does she think of herself?
She was practically destroying my house and acting like it was no big deal.
I remember staring at her for a few moments, thinking what kind of an evil person would enter their ex’s house and take away most of their furniture.
I wanted to scream, to kick her out, but I couldn’t. Not with Roger just standing there silently and watching as she humiliated me.
“And you’re letting her take everything?” I finally managed to speak, looking straight into Roger’s eyes. “You didn’t even try to stop her? And why didn’t you tell me she was coming? You knew, right?”
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled as he lowered his gaze. He was too ashamed to even look at me.
“Seriously, Roger? That’s it?” I rolled my eyes. “I never thought you’d let your ex walk out with our whole life! This is ridiculous.”
“Ridiculous?” Melissa laughed. “I’m sorry honey, but technically everything in your house belongs to me. Even the bed that you two share. I paid for all this stuff, so I have every right to take it.”
Yeah, right, I thought to myself.
It would be true if I said I’ve never felt this humiliated in my entire life. Can you even imagine what kind of patience it took to stop myself from humiliating Melissa?
I could’ve thrown every embarrassing secret Roger had told me about Melissa right back at her, but I wasn’t about to stoop to her level. I wasn’t going to be petty.
At that point, I wanted to ask why she needed this old, used furniture when she could afford a brand-new bed set, and the latest model of the automatic coffee machine.
She was wealthy, owning one of the most popular businesses in town, and she could easily afford a fully furnished house.
But I knew why she was doing it. It was all about humiliating me. I could see the jealousy in her eyes.
“Fine,” I spat. “Take it. Take everything you own. But don’t you dare contact me or my husband ever again!”
“Sure, honey,” she said, smirking as if she had won the biggest prize of her life.
I watched as she walked toward the main door and called the workers inside to pick up the remaining furniture. Then, I spotted a truck in our backyard, full of the furniture the workers had already moved.
Meanwhile, Roger silently watched the workers tear our house apart. He was helpless, and just as heartbroken as I was.
That’s when I came up with a plan to make Melissa regret her decision.
Right when she stepped outside to look at the truck, I hurried into the kitchen and pulled out a few frozen shrimp from the freezer. Then, I quickly hid them in different places including our side table, the living room chairs, and inside our mattress.
I even stuffed a few of them inside the decorative pillows. I only had to wait for a few days to see the shrimps do their magic.
You see, I knew she wouldn’t keep this furniture in her house. She was probably going to dump it in some storage unit, and I couldn’t wait to see how these little pieces of meat would turn that place into an unbearable stink bomb.
As the workers loaded the last piece of furniture into the truck, Melissa gave one final self-satisfied glance around, ensuring she had destroyed our house in every possible way.
“I hope you’ve taken everything that’s YOURS,” I said, my arms crossed.
She nodded. “Yup, I’m done, honey. Sorry for the inconvenience.”
Sure, sorry, I thought.
And with that, Melissa left our house and drove away in her shiny SUV. Meanwhile, Roger sat on the ground with his hands on his head.
“I’m so sorry,” he said as tears trickled down his cheeks. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know how to tell you. She called me a few days ago and told me she’d come over, but I had no idea she was serious. I never thought she’d do this to us.”
I sighed and sat down next to him.
“It’s alright, babe,” I said, caressing his arms. “I wouldn’t want to live in a house furnished by your ex-wife anyway.”
At that point, I could’ve yelled at Roger, blamed him, and made him feel terrible about the situation, but I knew things weren’t in his control. Besides, that’s exactly what Melissa wanted.
She wanted to see us fight and break apart, and I wasn’t going to give her that satisfaction.
“Instead of apologizing, I want you to buy me new furniture, okay?” I chuckled. “Anything I pick. I want to make this place feel like home again.”
“I’ll do that,” he looked up at me with a smile. “I’ll buy every piece of furniture that you want. I promise.”
I held his hand and squeezed it hard.
“I love you, Roger, and I’ll always be there for you,” I said. “We’ll get through this together.”
As we lay on the bedroom floor that night, I realized that I didn’t need Melissa’s furniture to make my house feel like home. I had Roger, and that was all I needed.
But the story doesn’t end here.
A few days later, while scrolling through Facebook, I stumbled upon a post in one of the local groups. It was from Melissa, and it was clear she was desperate.
HELP NEEDED URGENTLY! Does anyone know how to get rid of a horrible, rotting meat smell in furniture? I recently moved some old furniture into a storage unit, and within days, it started smelling like something died inside.
I’ve tried airing it out, deep cleaning, and even using baking soda, but nothing works! The smell is unbearable, and I can’t even walk into the storage room without gagging. Please, if anyone has tips, I’m losing my mind here!
I couldn’t help but chuckle while reading her frantic post. All her wealth, all her pride, and she was brought down by a few pieces of hidden shrimp.
It was the sweetest revenge. Served cold.
What would you have done if you were in my place?
I Took an Abandoned Girl from Church on Easter Only to Uncover My MIL’s Deepest Secret — Story of the Day
She was five. Alone. Holding an Easter basket on the church steps. I brought her home against my MIL’s protests. By evening, I realized this child wasn’t a stranger to our family at all.
I don’t like celebrating Easter with my husband’s family.
It’s not the holiday itself — it’s beautiful, bright, full of the smell of yeasty dough and fresh flowers. But celebrating it under my MIL’s sharp gaze feels like sitting on needles in a lace dress.
To her, I’ve always been a little “not right.”
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So when my husband, Dave, suggested going to her place, I made every effort not to grimace. He was drying his hands with a towel, clearly hoping I’d say “yes” without hesitation this time.
“Come on, love. It’ll be nice.”
I sat at the kitchen table with a cup of tea that had long gone cold.
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“You know exactly how it’ll go,” I murmured without looking up.
“She’s trying,” Dave said softly. “She even decorated the terrace with flowers. Says she’s making it just like when I was a kid.”
“Yeah. With the same ‘jokes’ from back then — like how you’re still childless because your wife clearly can’t bake anything more meaningful than a cake.”
Dave let out a slow breath. Silent. Not denying it.
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“She doesn’t know,” he said after a pause.
“And she doesn’t need to. It’s our business. Not hers.”
Dave nodded. But I saw it in his eyes — the weariness. The way he’d grown tired of being the rope in a silent tug-of-war between two women who loved him in different ways.
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I turned to the window. Crocuses had started blooming. Easter was around the corner.
“Fine,” I stood up. “Let’s go. Better her decorated terrace than our walls reminding us of what we don’t have.”
“You sure?”
“No,” I smiled. “But I have a nice dress. It deserves some air.”
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Dave laughed and raised his hands in surrender.
“So are we blessing the Easter basket or just keeping the peace for one day?”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself until I’m actually holding the basket,” I grumbled, pulling on my coat.
An hour later, we were driving down a road sprinkled with fallen blossoms. I had no idea this Easter would be more challenging than I expected.
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***
The morning went surprisingly well. Cynthia greeted us without a single eye roll or poisonous comment.
The Easter service was beautiful.
Light streamed through the stained-glass windows, and I found myself almost relaxed, sitting beside Dave with Cynthia on the other side, clutching her blessed basket like a relic.
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No side-eyes. No sighs. No carefully sharpened remarks. For the first time ever, it felt like a normal holiday. A quiet, uneventful, even… pleasant Easter. At least, that’s what I thought.
When the service ended, we stepped out into the sunlight. I stood near Dave’s mother as she scanned the crowd.
“Where’s David? Still in there?”
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“He’s helping someone with the candles.”
Cynthia muttered something under her breath and headed toward the car. I was about to follow when…
I saw her.
A little girl, no older than five, was sitting alone on the edge of the stone steps. Her Easter basket rested beside her — jelly beans inside, and a chocolate bunny with one ear already bitten off.
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She was Black. Dressed in a white cardigan and yellow dress, her shoes perfectly polished. But her face looked… abandoned.
I walked over slowly and crouched down.
“Hey there. Are you waiting for someone?”
She looked up. Big brown eyes. Calm, but uncertain.
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“My daddy. Mama said he’d be here to get me.”
“You came here alone?”
She shook her head.
“Mom brought me. She said Daddy would come.”
Before I could ask more, I heard a sharp voice behind me.
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“There you are!” Cynthia’s heels clicked against the pavement. “What on earth are you doing? We’re all waiting in the car!”
“This little girl… She’s waiting for her father. Says he’s supposed to meet her here.”
Cynthia gave her a long look, unimpressed. “Oh, come on. You don’t really believe that.”
“She seems sure. Maybe we could check with someone? Or let the priest know?”
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Cynthia rolled her eyes.
“She seems like she walked away from some social worker. You don’t just leave a five-year-old at church with a basket and expect a miracle.”
Then, she narrowed her eyes at me, already sensing where that was going.
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“And don’t even think about getting involved. You’re not bringing some stranger’s child into someone’s clean home on Easter Sunday.”
“She’s not a kitten. She’s a child. Alone. I’m not leaving her here.”
“She’ll be fine!” Cynthia snapped. “Someone will come for her. It’s a church, not a bus stop.”
I looked down. The girl had gone quiet.
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“I’ll take her with us,” I said.
“You will not.” Cynthia’s voice went cold. “This is my house. I decide who walks through my door.”
“Then Dave and I will get a hotel.”
“You’re being ridiculous.”
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I knelt again beside the girl.
“What’s your name, sweetheart?”
“Ava,” she whispered.
“Well, Ava, how about you come with us for a little while? Just until we find your Mom or Dad, okay?”
She nodded.
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Dave appeared just as I was scribbling our address on the back of a church flyer and handing it to the priest. Cynthia stormed toward him.
“Your wife is bringing home strays now!”
Dave looked at me, then at Ava, then at his mother.
“It’s fine,” he said calmly. “She can come with us.”
“She what? David!”
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“She’s a little girl, Mom. It’s Easter.”
Cynthia stared at both of us like we’d lost our minds. But I held Ava’s hand as we walked to the car. And Dave didn’t let go of mine.
I had no idea who that child truly was.
But something deep inside me already knew — that wasn’t random.
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***
Ava followed me through the hallway in tiny socks, carefully stepping on the wooden floor like it might crack beneath her.
The house smelled like Easter bread and tension.
Cynthia hadn’t said a word since we came in. She’d pursed her lips so tight I thought they might disappear entirely.
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Dave, bless him, tried to smooth things over — making tea, chatting about traffic, pretending we hadn’t just brought a mysterious child into his childhood home.
But Ava was… different.
She didn’t whine. Didn’t ask for cartoons. She just sat at the table drawing, focused, quiet. Her tiny fingers gripped a purple crayon like it was the only anchor she had.
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I leaned over.
“That’s beautiful. Who is it?”
She held up the drawing — a man, a woman, and a little girl between them. They were holding hands.
The man had brown hair and green eyes. Just like Dave.
I swallowed hard.
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“You like drawing your mom and dad?”
She nodded.
“Sometimes I dream about them. Together.”
I stood and quietly went to the guest room where we’d placed her backpack. I needed to find her toothbrush. Or clean socks. Or anything — just something to do with my hands.
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I unzipped the side pocket. A photo slipped out. It fluttered to the floor.
I bent down. And froze. It was a printed photo. A young couple, smiling.
The woman — beautiful, dark-skinned, with soft curls around her cheeks. The man — tall, white, with familiar green eyes.
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Familiar face.
Familiar jawline.
Familiar dimple.
My husband!
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“Ava?” I called gently, stepping into the hallway.
She peeked out from the kitchen, chewing on a cookie. I showed her the photo.
“Sweetheart… Who’s this?”
She smiled brightly.
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“That’s my mommy and daddy!”
I tried to return the smile. But my cheeks refused to move.
“Do you know your daddy’s name?”
She paused. “I think… David. I’ve never met him.”
My heart dropped.
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I nodded slowly and turned down the hallway, my fingers trembling around the photo.
Then, the soft creak of a floorboard behind me. A sigh.
Cynthia.
She was already standing there, arms folded, eyes narrowed like she’d been waiting for her cue. I stepped into the living room where Dave sat on the couch, holding out the photo.
“Dave. What is this?”
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My husband looked up. His face went pale. Before he could speak, Cynthia’s voice cut through the air like ice.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” she snapped, striding into the room. “I heard everything. First, you bring home a random child, now you’re accusing my son of being her father? What kind of circus is this?”
Dave stood up.
“Mom. Stop.”
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Cynthia’s eyes burned into mine.
“You’re seriously turning Easter into some twisted drama? What’s next — a baby goat in the guest room?”
Dave didn’t look at her. He took my hand.
“She might be my daughter.”
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***
The house held its breath.
Dave sat on the armrest of the couch, staring at the photo in his hand like it was ticking. Cynthia paced near the fireplace, arms crossed so tightly her knuckles turned white.
Ava was upstairs, drawing. Quiet as a ghost. And just as heavy on our hearts. Then the doorbell rang. We all froze. Cynthia frowned.
“Who could that possibly be?”
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Dave looked at me. I didn’t say anything — just headed toward the door, my palms damp.
When I opened it, I saw her.
A tall woman stood on the porch. Black. Graceful. The wind tugged at her scarf, revealing soft curls and sharp cheekbones. Her eyes were tired.
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It took me only a second to place her. She was the woman from the photo. The one smiling beside Dave in the snapshot, hidden in Ava’s backpack.
The one who hadn’t said a word. Until now.
“Hi,” she said softly. “You must be the one who brought Ava.”
I nodded.
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“I’m Daisy,” she added. “Her mother.”
I stepped aside without speaking. She entered slowly, like someone stepping into a house that once belonged to her in a dream.
Dave stood up the moment he saw her.
“Daisy…?”
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“I got your number from the priest. But I didn’t call. I already knew where to go.”
“You knew we’d be here?”
“I didn’t… not until I saw you this morning. At the church.”
Dave froze.
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“I was walking past with Ava,” she continued. “We were just going to sit outside and listen to the choir. But then Ava saw you. She didn’t know it was you. I did.”
Daisy’s voice trembled, just slightly.
“Ava always asks about you. I didn’t plan anything. But I thought…”
She paused. Looked around the room.
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“I told her to wait for her Dad.”
“You left her?” Cynthia’s voice cut like broken glass.
“I stayed,” Daisy said, turning sharply. “I watched everything. You were one of the last families to leave. I wanted to see what you’d do. Whether you’d ignore her. Whether you’d walk away.”
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Dave looked like he was about to fall.
“You should have told me.”
“I tried. Twice. The first time, I got your voicemail. The second… your mother answered the door. After that, your number stopped working.”
All heads turned to Cynthia. She didn’t flinch. But her mouth was tight.
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“I was protecting you,” she said.
“No,” Daisy replied. “You were protecting yourself. Your image. Your control.”
“I was protecting my son’s future!”
“You stole his present. And his daughter’s.”
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Dave’s face crumbled. He turned to me, searching, as if for balance.
I stepped forward and said quietly, “She’s not trying to break anything, Cynthia. She’s trying to give something back.”
Then we heard the footsteps. Ava appeared at the top of the stairs, holding a piece of paper.
“Mommy?”
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Daisy’s entire face changed. She crouched without thinking.
“Hey, baby.”
Ava ran to her, curling into her arms like she’d been waiting for this hug her whole life. Dave’s voice broke the silence.
“I didn’t know. God, I didn’t know.”
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“You do now,” Daisy answered gently. “And she’s right here.”
Dave looked at me. I reached for his hand.
“She’s your daughter. I’m not going anywhere. But neither is she.”
Cynthia stood still. I turned to her.
“I may never be able to give you a grandchild. But you already have one. Maybe not the one you imagined. But real. Brilliant. Here.”
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Cynthia didn’t answer. But something shifted in her eyes. She looked at Ava, and her shoulders dropped.
“You can stay,” she said hoarsely. “All of you. It’s Easter. And I guess… even the messiest families deserve to be together.”
Ava stepped toward me and unfolded her drawing.
“I made us all. Even Granny Cynthia. Just in case.”
Cynthia blinked. For a second, I thought she might cry. She cleared her throat.
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“That’s… very sweet, dear.”
Ava smiled shyly and returned to Daisy’s side. And I… I just watched them. A man. A woman. A child. A mess. A miracle. A maybe.
Maybe our family didn’t begin the way we hoped. Maybe it was twisted, tangled, and painful.
But it was real. It was ours. And somehow, in the most unexpected way, I’d found someone I didn’t even know I was meant to love.
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